The Shield of Darius Page 9

  “There have been a number of disappearances similar to your husband’s over the past several months. Half-a-dozen or so. Under any circumstance, that’s an unusually high number. But in this case it’s all the more puzzling because there hasn’t been a single note left behind, and nobody’s made any attempt to use the people as hostages. Doesn’t look much like abductions. And…,” he raised an index finger to stress the point and quiet the objection she knew her eyes reflected. “And…in every case the passport was used within twenty-four hours to go to either Frankfurt or Paris. These disappearances have happened all across the globe, so as a group, they haven’t attracted a lot of attention.... But I’m starting to think these people are meeting for some reason.”

  Kate struggled to keep her face expressionless. The thought was new to her, and she wanted to mull it over before giving any indication of its import. She spread red honey French dressing over a portion of her salad while she formulated her question, placed the small silver pitcher beside her glass, then looked up again at the State Department investigator.

  “Did these people have other things in common? Other than the circumstances you have described?”

  Mr. Falen nodded appreciatively. She had asked the right question.

  “The only factor I can come up with is that several of these people seemed to come from an almost unbroken line of East European ancestry. At least, that’s what the information passed along by the Department shows.”

  Kate returned to the salad, poking at it absently. “You know, I presume, that Ben’s family’s from Yugoslavia. In fact, from what is now Kosovo, and originally came to America as refugees. But he’s Roma by ancestry – what most people call Gypsy – and it’s never been that big a thing with him. His father and uncle, maybe. His grandfather – no question about it. But Ben usually leaves when they get into one of their ‘Roma persecution’ discussions.”

  “Usually?”

  “Well, it’s hard to avoid them all together. There’s still family near Pristina and they write occasionally. Ben’s father went over a number of years ago – before the latest war made things so difficult and things really became tense. His family is Lipjan Roma originally and Catholic, so they were suspected of siding with the Serbs. I don’t think he’s been since. But Ben? No. He’s too far removed.” As she made the statement, Kate found herself wondering if it was true.

  “He’s the oldest son, isn’t he?”

  “Only son. He has sisters, and they married Roma Americans. Or at least men of Roma descent. He married an Irish girl, which removed him from the circle by a step. And as I said, there’s none of the passion for the old country the others show. He’d be the least likely member of the family to….”

  Falen was silent and she knew he was again studying her as a string of loosely connected thoughts worked its way through her head.

  “Hmmm,” he grunted. “It seemed like such a good possibility, particularly since nothing else makes any sense. During the Kosovo purges – which certainly included the Roma – we know that various guerilla groups developed in the country that had U.S. supporters who provided monetary assistance. But some also had militaristic arms in Kosovo, watching the new government to keep their particular ethnic group from being persecuted. Some compare their influence to that of a mini-Mafia – though they appear to be more nationally minded. There have been some recent incidents against Roma in both Kosovo and Albania, and we have worried that one of these groups might be organizing something. But if you think it wasn’t that big a deal with your husband….” Christopher Falen picked up a square of club sandwich.

  “Is there such a Roma group?” Kate asked.

  Falen quickly swallowed a bite and wiped his lips. “The RPA,” he said.

  “RPA?”

  “Roma Protection Alliance. It’s involved in Kosovo and a number of other countries where the Roma have been persecuted. Have you heard of it?”

  Kate didn’t respond. She was thinking of Peter Koka.

  NINE

  Peter had agreed to come. In fact, he had sounded almost anxious.

  Kate swung the Audi up the steep drive in front of the rambling white frame house in Winchester, Virginia and turned off the engine. She sat for a moment, staring ahead at the louvered garage door, collecting her thoughts. Christopher Falen had freed her of her pledge not to talk about their conversation to the degree that she could ask Ben’s family about East European affiliations. That meant including Peter Koka – a bright, interesting man who had made a fortune in glass bottles, mainly for custom wine makers, and was now viewed as the patriarch of the Sager clan. But Peter was a very private and intense man and always made Kate uneasy. And she also had to face Tony and Elizabeth again.

  Kate had seen Ben’s parents only once since returning from England, a brief awkward visit in Baltimore where everyone avoided talking in front of the children, but no one excused them. The couple had returned home to Virginia leaving Kate with the distinct impression that at least Elizabeth held her responsible for Ben’s disappearance. Kate hadn’t felt like seeing them since, until her meeting with Falen at the Baltimore harbor. When she called and invited herself up for the weekend, they accepted with surprising warmth and she called Ben’s sisters and Peter to invite them to the gathering. They all accepted. This time she left the children with her mother, and went alone.

  During the drive into Virginia, she had rehearsed her presentation over and over. For some reason, seeing the house seemed to sweep her mind clean, and she started through it again. But her moment of solitude disappeared as Anthony Sager stepped out onto the covered front porch and stood expectantly, forcing her from the car.

  As Kate entered the hallway with its broad staircase rising directly ahead to the second floor bedrooms, she could hear the rest of the family assembled in the living room to her left.

  “We’re all here,” Tony said. “And all a bit curious. Any news about Ben?”

  “No news, really.” She hugged and kissed her way around the room as each of Ben’s family rose in turn to greet her, honoring a tradition that two generation in America hadn’t diminished. When she reached Ben’s mother, the slight, dark woman held her for an extra moment.

  “When we were in Baltimore, we were all very upset,” she whispered. “We know that you are doing all you can. We love you.”

  Kate held her for a moment to give her time to blink away the moisture in her eyes, then moved on to Uncle Peter and the brothers-in-law. With the circle complete, all sat again but Mrs. Sager, who started through a large archway that opened from the back of the living room into a spacious dining area.

  “I’ll let you talk while I get some lunch started.”

  “At least for a few minutes,” Kate asked, “I’d like to talk to all of the family.” Elizabeth nodded politely and returned to her seat on the high-backed flowered sofa.

  Kate struggled for the first sentence of her speech and failing to find it, decided to settle for straight talk.

  “I realize I might be completely off base here,” she began, “but I’ve been following up on every possible thought that might explain Ben’s disappearance. Last week I was made aware of some Roma support groups in the United States. People who are working in various ways to provide support and stop persecution of Roma groups in places like Kosovo.” She paused to survey the circle who continued to sit in puzzled silence – all but Peter Koka, who rocked slowly in a padded recliner in the corner opposite her, puffing on a straight-stemmed mahogany pipe and watching her with intent anticipation.

  “I know your family takes great pride in your Roma ancestry,” she continued. “Whenever we’ve visited, I’ve heard you talk about the old country and the family you have there. Tony, you and Pete went back to see them some time ago, and Peter, I think you have been back since. I wondered if you knew anything about a group of this kind that supports efforts to monitor government activities and support the Roma in Kosovo? And, if there is one, could Ben be connected in any way?”r />
  The family sat dumbly, appearing to be stunned by the question. Kate pushed a little harder.

  “If there is a connection of any kind, it might make a huge difference in piecing this together....”

  Tony abruptly shook his head and broke the silence.

  “There is such an organization. At least there is rumored to be. It’s been around at least since the KLA was formed in Kosovo and is called the Roma Protection Alliance or RPA. It’s a secretive thing – or at least parts of it are – and one about which it’s difficult to separate fact from fiction.”

  “What’s the KLA?” Kate asked.

  “The Kosovo Liberation Army,” Tony explained. “It was an Albanian guerilla group formed to protect Albanians living in the Kosovo region from Milosevic and Serb militias. Most of the Roma in Kosovo are Muslim and sided with the Albanians – or at least seemed sympathetic to them. But others were Catholic, and though they weren’t necessarily supportive of Milosevic, were targets of the KLA. Did you follow all that?”

  Kate nodded.

  “The RPA was formed primarily to protect these Catholic Roma and has supposedly become even more active since Kosovo was given independence. I think there is no question about its existence. I don’t belong, of course. With all of the years spent with the US Information Service, I couldn’t have gotten away with it even if I’d been interested. The only people who really know much about it are its members, and I understand they don’t always know who else belongs.”

  “But surely not Ben,” Elizabeth Sager worried from the sofa. “Of all the family, he showed less interest than any in the old country.” The others nodded and muttered agreement, contributing to the conviction that Ben was an unlikely candidate for the RPA. All but Peter, who continued to puff in silence and study his nephew’s wife.

  “I thought if he had a connection of this type, I’d know about it,” Kate admitted. “But I wanted to get you all together to consider the possibility.”

  They all sat waiting for Kate to continue, but she was lost in her own thoughts. After a moment, Mrs. Sager rose again and walked toward the dining room, signaling a close to the discussion. “I think I’ll just make some sandwiches and we can eat out back. It’s so lovely outside.” As if on cue, the family rose to help; the women to the kitchen, and the men into the back yard to set up tables. Only Peter Koka stayed to blow blue rings of smoke from the recliner, watching Kate with deep intelligent eyes. She sat with him expectantly until he rose stiffly.

  “Let’s go join the others,” he said, and ushered her out to the family garden where he kept her beside him as he carefully inspected the underside of young tomato leaves.

  “These are getting some kind of blight,” he observed, holding up a branch of the plant where the long green leaves had begun to curl into tight, crinkled scrolls. “If Tony doesn’t spray, they’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

  Kate looked absently at the leaves and mumbled her agreement.

  “You have something else on your mind,” Ben’s uncle smiled. “What can I do to help?”

  “I noticed that while we were talking about the RPA earlier, you didn’t have any comment. Is there something you would like to tell me privately?”

  Peter straightened with one of the curled leaves between his fingers, gently unrolling it to inspect the inside, his brown leathery face wrinkling into a thoughtful frown.

  “As Tony said, no one knows much about the RPA. Even those inside. The Roma have been a persecuted group during their entire history, but they now have some wealthy and influential supporters here and in Europe. From what little I know, the organization’s largely one of financial support for small business development….”

  “And…” Kate prompted.

  Peter looked across the yard to where the others were gathering around a long table spread with sandwiches, fresh fruit and glasses of red wine.

  “I’ve heard that there is a small group within the organization – a core of men who try to play a more active role as a government watchdog and protection group. Sometimes they work inside the country. Sometimes through highly placed contacts in our own government. I’ve heard they were partly responsible for the NATO intervention, and worked to foment demonstrations against Roma persecution.... Now, the talk is that they’ve made it clear to elected officials that there will never be a return to that kind of treatment of the Catholic Roma. I personally am not certain that’s true. But with the country having passed through so much oppression, I wouldn’t be surprised if something is still happening inside the RPA. Perhaps some person in power in Kosovo is stepping out of line.”

  “But you heard others say inside that Ben would be the least likely to get involved in something like that.”

  “It is also said,” Peter continued, turning back toward the garden, “that the inner circle is made up of people who would seem beyond suspicion. An activist could never be one of its members.”

  “Are you a member, Pete?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but saw little to be lost under the circumstances.

  “Me? Good gracious no.” His face twisted into a wry smile. “If I were, of course, I’d lie to you about it. So you can’t really know, can you?”

  “But Ben….” Kate paused, struggling to formulate the question. “If Ben were a member of this group – which I can’t accept for a minute – how would he plan anything or play an active role without me knowing about it?”

  Peter Koka shrugged. “Out of town business meetings. Letters or calls to and from his office. Evenings out with the boys. And as I said, I’ve only heard of the group. And I also doubt Ben’s involved. But you asked.”

  Kate thought about Ben’s work pattern. He rarely went out of town by himself and never took a night out with the boys. There was the annual technical conference at Snowmass, but she often went with him and had met some of Ben’s acquaintances from the meeting. Most were Asian rather than East European. But there were the trips to England….

  While the others were still cleaning up the picnic she found Christopher Falen’s number in her purse and slipped into the TV room at the back of the house to use her cell phone. His voicemail answered and she started to hang up, then waited impatiently for the beep.

  “Mr. Falen, this is Katherine Sager. You may want to check further on your Roma support organization – the RPA. Also see what you can find out about an inner circle of some kind, a group that’s more actively involved with government control inside the country. Let me know what you learn.”

  As she hung up, Peter Koka stepped into the TV room. He looked at her with the same anticipating gaze she had seen in the living room.

  “I didn’t mean to pry, but heard a voice back here and came to see who was in the house. I couldn’t help overhearing.” He paused and drew on the pipe, which appeared to have gone out. “If Ben is working with the RPA, there is little to be gained by trying to find him – and perhaps much to be lost. He would not want you to try, and he’ll reappear when he’s ready.”

  Kate studied him for a moment, deciding he was not upset about her call but was passing along advice.

  “And if he isn’t? Then what should I be doing?”

  “Exactly what you are,” he smiled.

  “You’ve changed your name from Sager back to Koka,” she observed. “Why?”

  “I am not a Sager. I am a Koka. Some immigration officer who didn’t like Gypsies changed it when my parents entered the country. I don’t know why he picked Sager. It must have been an S day at Ellis Island.”

  “The others haven’t changed. Why was it important to you?”

  Again Peter Koka smiled. “What was your name before you married,” he asked.

  “Fitzgerald.”

  “Ah – a good Irish name. Are you proud of it?”

  “Very,” she said with an understanding nod.

  . . .

  Chris Falen removed his jacket, loosened his tie and poked the voicemail selection on the cell to see who had called while he had the phone mut
ed. Kate’s number appeared.

  “Mr. Falen, this is Katherine Sager.” He stopped in the middle of the apartment and listened to the rest of the message, chuckling to himself as it ended.

  “Amazing woman,” he muttered, thinking of the expanded list of East European support organizations he had received from Fisher only yesterday. The KPA had been included, but the list said nothing about an inner circle. He made a mental note to submit a follow-up.

  As much as he had tried to ignore them, images of Kate Sager had plagued both his waking and sleeping hours since their meeting at the Mariner’s. Falen wasn’t a man who liked to dwell on the unique attributes of any particular woman. Both his work and his disposition favored short, passing relationships; a night or two with as little conversation as was absolutely necessary. But there was something about this woman that was getting under his skin. She wasn’t beautiful; not by Falen’s standards. Not finely featured in a classical sense, but definitely sensuous. Slender, without being skinny. Not quite as busty as Falen liked, but certainly adequate. An enticing challenge.

  He replayed the message and smiled, pulling his tie the rest of the way off and carrying it into the bedroom where he threw it and today’s envelope from Fisher onto his unmade bed.

  Like a panther, he thought. She could tear you apart, and eat you alive. He walked back through the apartment to the small kitchenette, pulled two beers from the fridge and opened one as he returned to the bedroom. Scooping his latest mail from the bed, he tapped it against his leg, ripped off the end and blew into it sharply to inflate the envelope. Hell, maybe Sager was mixed up with the KPA. Wouldn’t that just be a pisser! He’d thrown the idea of the support group out as a dodge, some way to get Kate’s attention diverted, but these DWATs might really be gathering somewhere. The Roma community in the U.S. had become more active during the Kosovo wars, and maybe something really was going on there again. Stranger things had happened.

  He had initially eliminated the possibility that the DWATs were gathering for some reason because of the extended time frame of the disappearances – over eighteen months. But the group might operate like the Moonies did in the seventies; recruiting a few, who recruit a few more. If that was happening, it would mean some hasty travel arrangements. And with a ten year life span on passports, a lot of new ones would have to be issued, plus a few quick turn-arounds on renewals. For some reason, passport application dates hadn’t been part of the original DWAT information. Falen’s latest request to Fisher was application data on each of his twenty-eight subjects.